Something Old
by benedictcumonmybaps
Summary: Cas finds something that Dean had almost forgotten about.


Castiel had never touched his stuff before. Which is why Dean was so surprised when he noticed the angel reach out a pale hand and slip his fingers underneath a few shirts and a pair of jeans to reach an off-white article below. He had to take a moment to wonder just what the angel was doing and why before he happened to catch what it was that he was lifting out of the beaten case.

"Cas, put it back," he practically snapped, his folding becoming sloppy and haphazard as he rushed to get the suitcase closed. "Now." The angel blinked, slowly, his head tilting in a way that suggested he might have been a puppy instead of a human in his life on earth before hesitantly doing as he was told. They shared a few moments of tense silence before the lid of the case clicked shut, a small, barely audible sigh slipping into the air. "…I'm sorry. Just don't grab my stuff, okay? Please. Personal space issues I can handle, but you at least have to respect a man's privacy." Castiel's eyes narrow that slight, unassuming bit, and Dean is already feeling guilt hint at the back of his mind.

"…of course. I'm sorry to have offended you," Castiel murmurs, his light eyes cast away, looking at anything but the hunter or the trunk. Dean sighs again and puts his hands up, shaking his head.

"It's fine. Whatever." He watches the angel's gaze finally returning to meet his and that guilt is hitting him now, right in the lowest point of his chest, and he can't stand it. God, he hates the way Cas can do that. Dean turns to the door, trunk almost completely forgotten as he heads for an exit. "I'll uh…I'll be back. Before Sam, probably, but he's gotta pack.." He's grumbling out excuses and he knows it, but soon the cool handle of the cheap motel's door is in his grasp and he's outside. As he makes his way down to the impala he knows it's not just Castiel he feels guilty about; it's that sweater. Of course the angel had to grab that sweater. He'd almost forgotten, honestly, and now it's all he can think about. Whiskey might not be a healthy way of dealing with things, but it's one of the quickest, something he's used to.

"Cas?" Dean asks as soon as he steps in the door, shifting the bottles awkwardly into the crook of his other arm to shut the door. He's never sure whether the angel will hang around or not and he doesn't wait for a reply, shuffling into the room to set the drinks down and get himself a glass. It's then he notices Castiel, standing in the same place Dean left him, the sweater back in his hands.

Dean expects anger as he usually does, his hand still clenched tightly around the neck of the bottle he'd set down as he waits for it to strike him. But it doesn't. He can't bring himself to get angry and that makes him want a drink that much more; but he stops. Not of his own will, really, as he catches just the look Castiel is giving him and he suddenly can't bring himself to move.

"This means something to you," the angel starts, voice low and steady as if testing each word, trying to find the ones most suited to what he's trying to say. "I can see it. What is this?"

"It's a sweater, Cas," Dean says with a wry, empty smile, a gesture that quickly begins to fade. "Just a sweater."

He doesn't remember letting go of the bottle but he's in front of the angel with empty hands, watching him with a half-forgotten smile. "You gonna try it on or just stand there starin' at it?" Castiel instead shifts his stare from the sweater to Dean, that hint of confusion going on stronger than ever as he's helped out of his dirty trench coat and suit jacket. "C'mon, it's a sweater, not the devil. Don't look at me so weird."

Dean's smile picks up slightly at the corners as Cas takes another glance at the sweater before carefully, very carefully, pulling it over his head, working his arms into the oversized sleeves, trying not to stretch out the knit fabric. He smiles and finally realizes Castiel is smiling too, running the tips of his fingers lightly down the worn patterns.

"…this is old," he murmurs, barely loud enough for Dean to hear. "And it means so much…" He looks up at the hunter, that gentle smile Dean does not get to see enough just settled on his lips. "Thank you."

He can't be angry. He can't feel anger or guilt or anything even close. There is pain from what this meant in the past, lingering there beneath the surface, but this just makes Castiel look so damn human as he smiles at the sweater Dean can't help but return that smile even more, his hand brushing over the angel's where it's still exploring the details in the stitches. He doesn't have to say you're welcome. He doesn't have to say anything. Dean feels himself leaning in before he realizes he's doing it, but it doesn't make him stop; he catches the angel just as he looks up, his eyes closing before he can see Castiel's eyes close in the same moment. He might have been surprised before to feel Cas return the kiss, but that is the last thing on his mind as he slowly, carefully rests his hand against the angel's jaw and lets himself go on.

Maybe Castiel can keep the sweater, after all


End file.
